


A Bathtub Full of Krauts

by srslycirce (orphan_account)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-01-20
Updated: 2010-01-20
Packaged: 2017-10-06 12:32:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/srslycirce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sora lands on Earth in 1944 and begins to fight alongside the Allies. But he begins to question whether he should really be fighting the Axis, or whether the Allies are manipulating him. And something strange has happened to Prussia. Or, shall we say, SAXPRIUS?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When Krauts Attack

"Sora! Sora, wake up!" The chipmunk tugged at the Keybearer's sleeve.

Sora had fallen asleep playing with a bubble pipe, and so when he awoke he almost snorted bubbles into his nose. "I... guh... what is it, Dale? Chip? I can't tell you guys apart."

"Chip," the animal said. Ordinarily he would have been seriously annoyed at this drowsy admission, but he wasn't, and so Sora knew something was wrong. "We've found a new world."

"Okay, sweet. Awesomesauce. Let's get to it. What's it called?"

"Earth."

Sora narrowed his eyes. "You sure this one needs our help? Last time we went to Earth, we all ended up in high school for some reason. It was totally not cool."

Chip shook his head. "No, no, this one definitely needs our help. You see..." He chittered anxiously and pulled at his whiskers.

Sora sat up, now a little unnerved. "What? What's wrong with it?"

"It..." The chipmunk curled his tail and shook his head again. "You just have to see this one for yourself. I'll beam you down."

"Well, alright." Sora hopped out of his seat and grabbed his keyblade off the shelf. "Hey Donald! Goofy! Let's roll."

\---

Sora got what Chip meant now.

At first, he was sure nothing could live on this world. The air was thick with smoke that made him gag and a smell he realized must be a combination of blood, decay, and burnt flesh. The ground was muddy and crawling with cockroaches and the occasional overfat rat, and oozed something Sora didn't want to know the nature of. Around him were the sounds of explosions and screams that were so painful he didn't even know if they were human. Sora had been to Hades. This was worse.

But to his sides there were definitely people, young men only a little older than him, shaking in fear and getting exploded in ways too horrible to think about. This couldn't go on. "Goofy, Donald, are you guys here?" Sora asked through the hand he held over his nose and mouth.

"Yearp."

"At yer side," Donald quacked weakly.

"We have to stop this!" Sora tried to sound as brave as possible through his nervous tears. "Come on! Let's go kill whatever's doing this to them!"

Sora peeked over the foxhole he was in to see a landscape of cratered ground and barbed wire. "Goofy, shield us. Donald, get ready with a Firaga." He jumped out, feet squishing in the muck, and started to run, his friends right after him. Bullets whizzed by, but they pinged harmlessly off the swirling energy shield Goofy projected. The enemy was in sight now. Sora drew his keyblade as he sprinted. "TRINITY... LIMIT!"

This was the largest horde of enemies he had ever seen, but they went down remarkably fast. A single shot of light at most of the smaller creatures and they went down like Shadows. The big mechanical ones took a few more tries to break down, and the flying ones required exceptional aim with a Thundaga, but it was all simple enough. Sora was used to huge brawls, and he and his friends fought as always, woofing and quacking encouragements to each other, healing whenever necessary. After a half hour or so, the only things within about a mile were smoking wrecks, and Sora and friends surveyed their triumph. That should do it. Now to check back on the poor people he had saved.

As the trio trudged back through the mud, they began to see helmeted heads poking out from their hole. When they approached, they began to be able to hear whispers around them. "Who... who is he?" "Did he just break the line?" "How on earth did they kill all those Krauts?" "Is he real?" "Are they angels?" "Is that a _duck?_"

Sora hopped back in the trench and stood, hands on hips. "Hey guys, I beat up those Heartless for you! You're safe now! Is there anything else I can help you with?"

Everyone just gaped in silence. Donald and Goofy were getting stares as usual, but most people just seemed to be in awe. Sora stood and basked in the glory for a while. Then one man stepped up, and the others shrank away from him. The man stared them down with cold china eyes. "Is it true that you broke the German ranks?"

"Uh, yep! That's me!" Sora beamed. "And they helped too," he added quickly, seeing his friends' glares.

The man gave them a cursory glance, and seemed to reject the idea that he should address a dog and a duck. "I am Sergeant Giblette. Your name and rank?"

"I'm Sora. These are Donald and Goofy." He gestured to them. "And... uh... I dunno if we have ranks."

The man's eyes narrowed. "Very well. We will discuss this. You shall meet with... _l'esprit._"

"What's a lespree?" Sora asked.

The man snorted and began walking. "You shall know him when you see him." Sora and company shrugged at each other and followed.

\---

They walked to a tent that was behind the reserve trenches and the artillery line, one that flew a bright little three-colored flag. Sora wanted to take a look around and gape at the guns and vehicles he had never seen the likes of before, not to mention the pretty horsies, but the sergeant kept him marching. The stink of death was still around this far back, and Sora found himself wishing for the sweet scent of the Hundred-Acre Wood. But as they pulled aside the tent flap, the scent of roses filled the candlelit air instead. The man sitting on a futon did have a hint of the Marluxia about him, come to think of it. Firstly, he had the same kind of long-haired pretty-boy looks – Sora might almost call him beautiful, but he really didn't think he swung that way. (Though this fella might make someone second-guess that.) And second, there was that strange air about him, something that made one feel that he wasn't quite human. Not that creepy emptiness that Nobodies had, though, but more of an intensity – like standing around this guy was like standing before an audience of a thousand King Mickeys.

"Ah, Giblette, ma cher!" the pretty man exclaimed, standing up. "I hear your squadron has broken the ranks? A fine achievement, that! You shall be rewarded most handsomely!"

"I cannot lie to you, sir," said the sergeant, scowling as though he wished he could. "The soldier – or soldiers, I suppose – that performed that feat were not mine. None of my men knew where they came from."

"Huh. Very well, then. Your honesty is much appreciated. You're on your way to a promotion, you know that?" The bishie winked and flashed a seductive smile. Giblette bowed and left. "And you," said the strange man, turning to Sora and his comrades, "do you realize that your valiant deeds have earned you a face-to-face chat with France itself?" He gave them a sweeping bow. Sora and his friends bowed back, confused. Seeing their confusion, the pretty man frowned. "You know, France? Only the most beautiful country? Moi?"

"Never heard of it," said Goofy, with as much confusion as Sora felt. Was this guy saying he was a place?

Realizing they did not know him, France's brow furrowed. He stood up with a flourish. "You are not one of my people, are you? Where are you from, boy?"

"Well, I'm from Destiny Islands..." said Sora.

"...And we're from Disney Castle," Donald finished, a little disgruntled at being ignored all the time.

France looked puzzled. "I've never met those places."

"Oh, they're in another world," Sora explained. "We flew here on our gummi ship, you see, because we thought you needed help fighting all these Heartless."

France blinked at him a few times. "It's true!" Goofy interjected.

France shrugged. "Well, I suppose I can't argue with the talking dog. So why were you killing Germans again?"

Sora sighed as he had to explain again. "See, those things that were killing people are called Heartless. I get rid of them and seal the world away to save it, because I'm the Keybearer and that's how I save people." He grinned and showed off his keyblade.

France chuckled. "Heartless? Is that what you call Nazis? I love it!" The man stroked his very small beard as he pondered. "You know, I think I shall show you to my friends, and we'll decide how you can help us best. They'll adore you. Come along now." He began to saunter out of his tent.

"Wait wait wait," said Sora. "Did you say you were a _place?_"

France looked back over his shoulder. "Yes, yes, it's very strange. Now, run along, we can't keep the Allies waiting. Vite vite." He continued his stride. Sora and pals shrugged at each other, then ran after him.


	2. Be a Man

As Sora and his friends followed this mysterious "France" being, the landscape around shifted in odd ways. Thankfully, the battlefield soon ended, replaced by rolling fields and sweet farmhouses, but they seemed to go by too fast, and looked less like real objects and more like the ideal illusions you see in dreams. France fit right in with the surrealism, and Sora was beginning to feel out of place in his dirt and ragged clothes. All of the houses were mansions, all of the streets were unnamed. Goofy had begun panting, and Sora himself felt like he had traveled miles, though they had only been walking for a few minutes. Noticing that his company was lagging, France glanced over his shoulder. "Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't realize how difficult this might be for mortals. Here, let me help you." Despite Sora's protests – after all, he had been through far worse – France wrapped an arm around him quite a bit too tight, for support. "Good thing our meeting-place is close." And indeed, a glittering and featureless office building was approaching, and Donald ran ahead in search of air conditioning and water fountains, webbed feet slapping on the dirt road. The rest followed behind, Sora occasionally tripping as he tried to keep up with France's jolly stride.

Donald was at the doorknob, struggling to wrench it open. France opened it with a gentle push, and bowing, ushered them in. With a few disgruntled quacks Donald waddled down the hallway, while Sora stared up at the five huge banners decorating the hall. They seemed to signify something, marked irregularly as they were in reds and blues and yellows, with stripes and crosses and stars... France noticed Sora's stare and bent to his level in order to point out a simple three-striped one. "That's mine," he said with a grin. Sora nodded – they must be some sort of crest then, like the king's three circles.

"Okay, boy, enough gawking at my natural and architectural beauty. We have guests to attend to." France winked and ushered Sora towards a door at the end of the hall. Goofy stood behind him, and Donald, who seemed to have found a sink and was now dripping, ran back up. Sora nodded and opened the door.

He didn't know what he expected to see, but three average-looking guys playing cards wasn't it. They each nodded or muttered a greeting to France without looking up, apparently recognizing him from his floral fragrance. They were far more focused on their game – the largest man glared at his hand, muttered under his breath, and threw down the cards. "I don't like this game anymore," he whined. "Can we play chess instead?"

"I must admit," said another of the men, a small fellow with long dark hair, "I don't understand your western games at all."

The third man, a heavy-browed and stern-looking guy, scoffed. "That's because you two are uncultured louts. And you can't bluff worth a dime." He scooped up the colorful coins they were using as points.

"Well, I don't like chips anyway!" shouted the big one, throwing his lone coin at the winner's face.

"Um, guys?" said France before the conflict could escalate. "Hi. I brought a guest or two."

The card players looked at him, surprised. With a few hurried apologies, they stood up to greet Sora and company. "My friends, I present to you the soldiers who achieved victory single-handedly so gloriously yesterday." France flourished towards the warriors in question, who grinned. "You... um... whatever you three are called, these are the Allied powers. This gentleman is my good buddy Britain." He threw an arm around the sour man who had won the card game, who quickly stepped up out of reach.

"So you managed to beat some sense into the Krauts?" he asked Sora. This one – Britain, was it? - exuded the same inhumanity, or over-humanity, as France did. Sora felt rather outnumbered and small. He wondered whether these people were even tangible. "By the way, boy," said Britain in a low voice, cutting off Sora's train of thought, "I hope France's company hasn't been... unpleasant. If he tries to pull anything untoward, do tell me."

Sora was about to ask what he meant, but France grabbed him by the waist and urged him towards the black-haired man. "This is China! He's a grand old empire with more population than he knows what to do with." Though France was smiling, China looked more insulted than anything.

Sora put out his hand to shake at the exact same time that China bowed, which ended up in Sora almost awkwardly slapping him in the face. China seemed unperturbed anyway. He seemed awfully familiar, and Sora realized he reminded him of someone he had met in the Land of Dragons – or, considering what these guys said they were, maybe of the world itself. "A brave warrior indeed, from what I've heard. Now if you proved yourself in some of my battles, that would be worth something."

Sora wasn't sure whether to be glad or insulted, so he just smiled and nodded. After a few awkward seconds, France directed Sora towards the big guy. "And this is Russia! He's recently become the first communist nation!" And, in a low whisper for Sora's ears only: "Watch out."

Entirely baffled, Sora didn't even try to shake hands or bow or anything, which was okay because the guy didn't either, he just smiled down at them. This was pretty comforting – this Russia person seemed genuinely goodhearted; he reminded Sora mostly of Winnie the Pooh. So Sora grinned back, and Russia made his happy face, and this went on for a while until Russia said "I like your duck."

"Thank you!" said Donald, who was getting quite frustrated at being neglected. He beamed in turn.

"And you talk!" Russia was visibly delighted. "And you have a sailor hat! You're funny."

"His hat sure is funny, isn't it?" Goofy chuckled, and Donald looked quite a bit less thrilled.

Russia turned to Sora. "Can I have your duck?"

"Um... no?" That was one of the weirdest questions Sora had ever gotten. "Donald's... not mine. He's his own person."

"But I'm hungry," Russia whined. "Haven't you ever heard of sharing?" His smile didn't change, but a strange cold aura seemed to emanate from him, and Sora no longer felt so fond of him.

"Look, buster," quacked Donald, attempting to point his staff in Russia's face, though it ended up closer to his bellybutton. "I'm not gonna be yours, or Sora's, or anybody's. I serve only myself, King Mickey, and the forces of light, got it?"

Russia's brow darkened, and his grin seemed less happy and more... something else. "I don't like kings." An icy wind began to blow.

France ran up and shoved the man and duck apart. "And we have one more member! He'll show up any minute now! He's just late!"

On cue, an energetic young man in a flight suit burst through the door. He pulled off his helmet and goggles, revealing askew glasses and extremely unkempt blond hair. "Hi guys! Sorry I'm late! I've been flying all night and boy are my arms tired!"

No one laughed except Russia. "You used that same joke last time," Britain pointed out. "And the time before that."

The young man glowered. "Okay, well, it's still not my fault I'm late. There was kind of an Atlantic Ocean in the way."

"Technically, I had a longer ride -" China pointed out.

"Shut up, short stuff!"

"Well, regardless, you're here now," said France, preempting yet another chaotic incident. "And guess what? I brought guests!" He gestured towards the adventurers.

"Well, guests, meet America, only the greatest nation in-" He stopped short when he saw their faces, and his jaw dropped.

"Is something wrong?" Britain asked. "You're not being loud."

"Guys, do you not know who this is?" he asked in quiet astonishment. "That's DONALD DUCK. DONALD. FUCKING. DUCK. And Goofy! Oh my god, it's actually Goofy!"

Goofy and Donald looked ecstatic, though everyone else was sorely confused. If they had never been to this world before, Sora wondered, how could this guy know who they were?

"Can I," America asked, "get your autographs?"

"Sure!" said Donald, producing a pad of paper from backpack-space and beginning to write.

America screamed in glee. "This is the new best day of my life!" He ran forward to envelop both of them in a crushing hug. "And you guys know Mickey and Minnie and Pluto and everyone?!"

"We're only the most trusted vassals of King Mickey himself," said Goofy, proudly despite the lung-squishing embrace.

"Best! Thing! Ever!" shrieked America, jumping up and down and thus infuriating Donald, who had to scratch out his work and try writing his signature for the third time.

Sora was feeling remarkably unloved by now, so he decided to pipe up. "And surely you've heard of me too?"

America stopped jumping. "No. Who the hell are you?"

That was disappointing. "I'm Sora the Keyblade wielder! The greatest hero in all the worlds!"

This didn't make America recognize him. In fact, it seemed to make America very angry. "Oh, I know why I haven't heard of you, then. Because you're a damn fake! I'm the only hero here!"

"No!" How could he be less famous than Goofy, for light's sake? "I'm Sora! Sora!"

"Sounds like a Jap name," America hissed.

"Definitely a Japanese name," China pointed out in an extraordinarily unhelpful manner.

"A spy!" America roared, lifting Sora by a spike of hair. "Tell me what you know! You better be thankful I believe in justice, mister, or I'd shoot you on the spot!"

Goofy slammed his shield into America's arm, causing him to drop the flailing boy. "Look, he's not a Japanose or whatever. He's one of my best friends, and if you hurt him you'll be in big trouble with me and Donald and King Mickey himself."

America rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "Sorry, man," he told Sora. "If Goofy says you're cool, then you're cool. I just... get a little worried sometimes, you know? Cause I have to be the true defender of liberty and stuff. Let's try that again. Hi! I'm America, the best country ever!" He held out a hand, and Sora, ever willing to forgive, took it. If this guy liked King Mickey and company so much, he couldn't be so bad.

"So, now that we're all here, let's get down to business," said France. Sora barely resisted the urge to belt out "to defeat the Huns". "Sora and others, do tell us how you managed to win such a lovely battle."

"Oh, see, we've had lots of practice," Sora told them. "I'm a Keyblade wielder, see?" He drew his blade for effect. "When my homeworld was destroyed by the Heartless, the Light entrusted me with the Keyblade to save worlds from the darkness because I have the power of heart. And now since your world's been invaded by the Heartless, I'm here to save you and restore peace and light and happiness!"

Everyone looked at him funny.

"Uh, sure thing," said America.

"I believe you," said Britain, seeming not entirely sure of himself.

"Well, anyway," said France, "regardless of where he's really from, he managed to defeat several hundred Germans in an hour, without a single scratch."

"We helped too!" shouted Donald.

"The three seemed to be able to call up divine light, and firestorms, and lightning, and blizzards," France amended. "And they were protected by a strange impenetrable shield the entire time."

The Allies were astonished. Applause rang out around the room.

"What a formidable foe!" said China. "Our enemies shall believe that the very heathen gods they worship have come down to smite them!"

"I knew magic was real!" said Britain. "I always knew!"

"Just goes to show you, don't fuck with the duck," said America.

"I liiiiike fiiiiiire," said Russia.

"So that's settled then," said France, clapping Sora on the back. "You'll run around scaring the tails off our enemies, and we'll love you forever. Oui? Good man."

Sora didn't recall agreeing to this, but he was happy to comply nonetheless. If there were Heartless to be fought, he'd fight them.

The days went by quickly, as each Ally had many demands for Sora.

"Light Warrior, those foul pirates are at my back again. Make them pay." So Sora ran off to China, and won handily.

"Sora, Prussia's bugging me. Make him stop. Crush him like the pathetic little capitalist vermin he is. And have you thought any more about giving me your duck?" So Sora ran off to Russia, and won easily, though it did take him a little bit of trouble to get Donald back.

"My darling, I've got a bit of a Boche problem on my right flank. Can you go make it better?" So Sora ran off to France and won quickly. Though when he tried to return to France's tent afterward as instructed, he met a flustered Britain, who told him that he had a prior appointment there and Sora was far too young and despite whatever France said this sort of thing absolutely would not do with three people. Sora headed back to his room at the conference hall, confused.

"Hey Sora, buddy. The Japanese are attacking some of my island bases. Come fix it, and then we'll get McDonalds on the way back." So Sora ran off to America and won there too, and when he returned he made a point of telling a confused France how delicious those fries he invented were.

"Boy, we have a serious naval situation in the Channel. Get out there and defeat those Huns." At this point Sora was forced to duck into another room and shout gleefuly "Did they send me daughters! When I asked! For sons!" Then he ran off to Britain and won.

One day he went to the conference hall only to find it abandoned. He was starting to search under the chairs to see if the countries were hiding when America burst in. "Guess what! Guess what guess what guess what!" He tackled Sora from behind with a bear hug. "We won!"

"You mean all the Heartless are gone?" That had been fast. Sora was almost sad to have to move on from this world, as he was starting to consider these nations – as strange as they were – his friends.

"Yep! Well, they've all been sorely beat up, anyway. Come on, we'll miss the settlement! I'm so excited! Switzerland's hosting! I'll fly you there!" And America grabbed Sora by the arm and ran off, while Sora wondered how he would manage to get the three of them there if he was using his arms to fly.


	3. In Which Sora Realizes He Screwed Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For plot reasons, this chapter is way angstier than any of the others will be. Losing wars does bad things to nations. Warning: If you don't want to see Japan with half his face burnt off, don't read on. If you do want to see Germany totally flipping out, do read on. (I listened to too much Rammstein while writing this.)

Sora realized that when America said "flying", he meant "flying an airship", and was duly disappointed, though it was much less worrying to sit in. (Not an airship, technically, either; when Sora called it that, America told him it was an airplane, and airships were only good for keeping dirty Germans in and being fun to blow up.) The trip was fast enough that Sora wondered whether they could've just taken a train or something and be spared the reckless piloting which only Goofy enjoyed, his head out the window and his ears flapping.

They passed over beautiful snow-capped mountains – a little too close, to tell the truth – and landed in a lush damp valley. The weather was a bright white cloud cover that only dribbled occasionally, though a storm the previous night had turned the ground muddy. In the foothills Sora thought he heard singing, and high up a pale herd of goats pranced.

"He's such a showoff," America muttered. "Come to Colorado sometime. It's twice as pretty. Everyone's over here, by the way." He showed Sora over to where the other four Allies were standing, along with six unfamiliar men.

The only new fellow who wasn't handcuffed was a stern, pale man pacing back and forth, a rifle held over his shoulder, as though he was still preparing for the war that had ended. "Hey Switz," said America, raising a hand for a high-five. The man angled his gun a little closer towards America, who put his hand down.

The other five guys were a pathetic bunch. Each was covered in bruises, scrapes, and sores, their uniforms tattered and mud-soaked. Two were trying to look proud, a blond man glaring at the sky and a very white man – he wasn't old, perhaps he was albino – who seemed almost to be smiling despite the grime on his face. But the rest were not so confident. There were two boys only a little older than Sora, who had to be brothers for their similar brown hair and round faces, perhaps even twins. The younger was sitting on the ground bawling, mud seeping into his uniform. The older squatted next to him, not quite crying but sulking so moodily he might as well have been. And the last man... He was small and darkish, foreign looking, somewhat like China. He was facing away, so that he didn't show the left side of his face, against which he awkwardly held one cuffed hand. Something maroon was seeping down his white sleeve. His visible dark eye was completely blank. Sora was somehow afraid. Who were these people, and how had they gotten so hurt?

"Now that we're all here," shouted Switzerland, causing America to shut up and turn away from a blushing Britain. "Now that we're all here, we can commence decisions regarding occupation. From there, the occupying Allied powers will decide... appropriate punishments." Russia did a happy little dance. "Germany, come forward."

The blond man stepped up, looked briefly down at Switzerland, and continued looking at the sky.

"You will be partitioned and occupied by a league of Allies. Your West will be jointly occupied by France, Britain, and America. Your East will be occupied by Russia. We'll... get to that later. For now, consider yourself in France's custody."

Germany nodded once, curtly, and stepped over to vaguely near France, who looked at him very strangely – a sort of merry rage that Sora would have never expected to see on such a kind man's face. "You shall pay dearly, ma cherie," France said softly, attempting to slide a hand around Germany's neck. Germany simply jerked away, though he looked as if he would gladly punch France in the face if he could.

With a sigh, Switzerland stepped over to the two brothers. "Italy." He looked down at them and they looked up. "...Do you promise to be very good from now on? Very very good?"

They nodded fervently, the smaller one whimpering slightly.

"No wars against any other Europeans ever again?"

They shook their heads violently.

"Right, you're free to go." He unlocked their cuffs.

The younger brother jumped up and ran off in tears. The older one stalked away after him. The rest watched them as they left. Sora thought he saw Germany looking almost wistful, but that lasted maybe two seconds.

Switzerland moved on to the next man. "Japan." The dark-haired man turned towards him. "You wi- oh god your face."

He had put his hands down. He was missing an eye; instead, the socket was blackened, charred bone radiating out from the wound. Around it the flesh was burnt brown, then a pale, dead yellow, then an inflamed red. From where his eye had been drooled some jelly-like mixture of blood, pus, and whatever was on the inside of one's eye that should really stay in there. The trail of gunk led down to his mouth, where a large area of skin was completely missing, revealing blackened teeth and jawbone. The same burnt rings of flesh reached from his cheekbones to his chin, occasionally forming oozing blisters.

Switzerland took a deep shaking breath. "Japan, you... will... America, what the fuck did you do to him?"

"Um. Bombed him. A little. With atomic bombs. Only twice."

"Twice? Why the hell twice?"

"I... had another bomb? And he deserved it."

Switzerland ground his teeth. "As much as I hate to tell you this, Japan, you will be occupied by America."

Japan stared at him for several seconds, then whispered, "Unbind me."

Switzerland stared back, then fumbled with the keys. "What the hell are you doing?" asked America, to no reply. The handcuffs fell away. Japan drew his sword, then raised it towards his own stomach.

America lunged forward, knocking Switzerland to the side, and grabbed the sword. "Hey! No suicide when you're my territory, got it!" Japan stared at him. Sora couldn't tell if he was glaring. Switzerland got up and unsuccessfully tried to rub the mud off his pants. "Naw, come on, man, it'll be great," America told Japan. "It'll be like a sleepover! I'll teach you all about democracy and freedom and Christmas and how to cook your fish before you eat it. Chin up." He bumped Japan's chin with his hand in a fit of literalism. Japan drooled something that might have been blood.

Switzerland shuddered and turned to the final man. "Prussia. For your heinous role in the many crimes of this war, you will be sentenced to death." And against all logic, the condemned man burst out laughing.

Switzerland blinked angrily. "...Excuse me? Did you not hear me properly?"

Prussia shook his head, unable to speak in his delirium. He covered his mouth in some semblance of politeness, but it didn't do much.

"Would you mind, then, explaining what exactly is wrong with you?"

Prussia drew in a few deep breaths. "You seriously think you can kill me?" He didn't stop grinning.

Switzerland leveled his rifle. "Whyever wouldn't I be able to?"

He grinned wider, showing very many very white teeth. "Since when can we kill each other? My people will still live. My land will still be there. I don't see how I can die, unless you bomb me into oblivion. And I don't think any of us would live through that." Nobody wanted to look at Japan.

Switzerland scoffed. "The terms of the treaty clearly state that you are to be dissolved. And I fully intend to enforce those terms." He looked through his rifle sights.

"Go on, then. Try me. I fully intend to survive." Prussia smiled at Germany, who made brief eye contact and nodded.

"Do you want to be shot in the head or the heart?"

"Whatever. Come on, do your worst." Sora noticed – though no one else seemed to – that a dark mist seemed to be gathering around Prussia.

"Heart will leave a nicer corpse." Switzerland accordingly aimed his gun lower.

"You can't kill me." His smile was so wide Sora expected his jaw to break. The mist thickened, and there were whispers in the crowd now.

"Three... two... one..." He squeezed the trigger.

"I WILL NOT DIE!"

The gunshot punctuated his exclamation. The darkness flared up and surrounded him, mingling with the smoke from the rifle. There was one last shriek of laughter before the dark contracted and the smoke blew away in the wind. There was no blood.

Switzerland lowered his rifle, hands shaking. "Well, that was unexpected," he mumbled. "I was expecting him to just keel over. Never seen one of us die before."

They were all silent for a moment. Sora had his suspicions, but it would be extremely awkward to voice them. And then the silence was pierced with a scream. Everyone looked around to see where it had come from, and they were all shocked to see Germany on his knees, wailing. "Where's his body? Where did he GO?" The man shrieked again and pounded the ground with both fists. He had somehow managed to break his handcuffs, and the chains clattered.

"He... he's dead. He's gone," Switzerland said, very softly. For some strange reason the Allies began to smile.

"He was my brother! My brother!" Germany clenched the ground in his fists and stared up at the others. No one did anything but smile at him. He roared and punched the ground.

"Be quiet," said Britain, who was beginning to look uncomfortable.

"You... you goddamned fools! You don't understand! You never understood! We had plans, such beautiful plans... we were going to..." Germany choked on his words and tore his nails down the sides of his scalp. "If only you had – if – if only..." He broke into sobs.

The Allies just kept grinning. Sora didn't know if France or Russia started it, but they all suddenly began laughing. It was shocked, nervous laughter, but also genuine mirth. Germany moaned and covered his ears. And the Allies continued to howl. Sora felt sick to his stomach.

"STOP!" Switzerland finally shouted. It took a few stifled snickers, but everyone fell silent. The only sound was Germany's heavy breathing as he rocked back and forth, holding his knees. "I'm ashamed of you. You all know what it's like to lose a war. You all know he's in pain. It doesn't matter what he did before, he needs help now. France, it's your job to deal with him. Give him some food, somewhere to rest, give his people aid. Go."

France made a derisive noise and pulled Germany up by the collar. Germany stumbled to his feet, not bothering to dry his face, and was led away like a wounded sheep.

The others began to disperse. China left first, uninterested in the west's troubles. Britain stopped to take a look at Germany and mutter the words "Completely insane. Completely and utterly batshit bonkers." Then he left. Russia took a long merry look at the beaten Germany until he was too far to clearly see, at which point the large man skipped off to the east, singing.

"Well, that was exciting!" said America, hands on hips. He turned to Sora and his friends, apparently not concerned by how quiet they were. "So, you going back home now that we've won, Sora? I mean, there's no more heartless Nazis to fight now."

"Um, I guess." Sora began to wonder if there were ever any Heartless to begin with. Those people... they didn't seem evil. What had they been fighting this whole time?

Japan was staring at him now, Sora realized. He turned away, uncomfortably realizing that he had helped America do... whatever he had done to this guy. But Japan didn't seem accusing, more surprised. "Sora?" he whispered. Did the nation recognize him somehow?

"Hey, no staring at guests. Be nice." America swatted Japan upside the part of the head that wasn't caked with blood. Japan stifled a whimper, as did Sora. "Come on, time to go to my house. I'll let you pick which room to stay in." And America took him by the wrist and began to walk back towards the plane. "Bye Sora! Bye Donald and Goofy! Awesome hanging out with you! Don't be strangers!" He waved. Japan gave Sora one last uncomfortable stare before turning away.

A few seconds passed. "So, um, are we leaving now?" Donald asked.

"Please?" Goofy added.

Sora thought, and turned away from them. "No. Not yet." If he had hurt these people – the Axis, was that what they were called? - he couldn't leave before he had made things right again. His job was to save people, not to make them get shot and burned and driven crazy. Sora bit his lip and wondered what he could do.

He noticed that Switzerland was still standing there, staring at the mountains. Sora walked up to him, dragging his feet. The nation turned. He was way more intimidating up close, and Sora looked at his feet instead. "Um. Hi," he said.

"Do you want something?"

Sora looked to the side. He actually really didn't know the answer to that. Better to just make conversation until he figured out what he wanted to say. "So. Um. You shot that guy, huh?" Oh, yeah. Nice going, self. That was slick.

Switzerland snorted. "I'm an arbiter. It's my duty to pass judgment." He looked at the mountains again.

"Uh. Yeah." Whee, huge success. Sora turned the toes of his oversized shoes in. "So are you like, with the Allies, or what?"

"I am a neutral," said Switzerland, sounding offended. "I don't take sides."

"Oh. Okay then." Sora considered leaving. This wasn't being productive.

Switzerland seemed lost in thought for a second, though. "I can't deny that what Germany did was horrible. He killed innocents, you know. Not just the innocents of his enemies, they all did that. But his own people..." He trailed off and shook his head. "These wars do terrible things to all of them. They all become so bloodthirsty, I hardly recognize them. It's part of why I've sworn myself to peace..."

"Wow. Yeah. I agree." Sora was really eloquent today.

Switzerland looked at him briefly. "You're that magical Allied soldier, aren't you? With the talking dog and whatnot? Having second thoughts?"

"You could say that, yeah."

"I'm glad you think for yourself. It's a rare enough quality in humans these days. Since nationalism took hold, we've all been able to throw as many human lives as we want at a problem. And few of us choose not to."

This was getting pretty deep. Sora wasn't sure he wanted to know what he had done anymore. But he really did have to. "So, um, those Italy kids that ran away? Where did they go?"

"They're directly south of here." Switzerland gestured with a tilt of his head. "You'll meet North Italy first. Talk to him. Get his side of the story."

Sora nodded, and prepared to set off. He was about to leave when Switzerland spoke again. "I have a little sister, you know." Well, that seemed random. "She's incredibly dear to me. I have no idea what I would do if I ever lost her." He holstered his gun.

Oh. That made sense now. Sora didn't really know what to say to that one. "Yeah. I guess I should head out now, then."

"One second." Switzerland rifled through his coat pockets. "I've got a chocolate bar. Want half?"

"Sure!" This guy wasn't so scary after all.

Switzerland took out the bar and broke it in half, the foil crinkling. He gave half to Sora and unwrapped his own. "I love chocolate. It's good for the soul in dark times like these."

"Yep. Definitely." Sora unwrapped his and took a bite. It was the best chocolate he had ever tasted. He started to walk south, beckoning for Donald and Goofy to follow.


	4. Ravioli In Venice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kay guys sorry about the previous chapter. Your regularly scheduled hijinx will ensue.
> 
> Several notes:
> 
> On chronology: I am not obeying the proper chronology of either fandom for purposes of the plot working. Thus, Sora has visited the Land of Dragons but all of the Org is still alive. As for Hetalia, I'm mostly working with established chronological order, but way sped up. By the end of this fic, the USSR will have fallen, which would technically mean 50 years had passed. Sora is not that old.
> 
> It has come to my attention that I forgot to put Jiminy Cricket in here. Um... HE WAS STEPPED ON BY A GERMAN. IT WAS VERY TRAGIC EVERYONE CRIED FOR DAYS. There, that's taken care of now.
> 
> Okay that took way too long. It's storytime!

Sora had gotten used to walking the distances the nations walked, and so he and his friends needed only to skip merrily through mountains for less than an hour before they had crossed the Alps. He wondered whether he could figure out how to do this in other worlds; it made traveling way easier. He also wondered if he should have tried to take home one of those mountain goats, because they were seriously adorable.

Upon climbing down from the mountains (actually, about half of that was sliding down on his butt, which was not as fun as it seemed it should be), the weather suddenly became sunny and balmy, with a lovely sea breeze blowing in. Sora noticed a human port city nearby, probably full of bustling crowds and and pretty girls and delicious food and boys in sailor suits. This place did make him feel like sitting back and taking a vacation, but heroism didn't allow for fun times like that. So he set off for what looked like a nation's home on the horizon, a lovely little country house.

Sora wiped his snowy shoes on the doormat (which declared CIAO BELLA!) before knocking at the green wood door. He waited a couple seconds, but there was no response. He tried pressing the doorbell, and he could hear it make a rooster sound within the house, but there was still no answer. Sora banged on the door a bit harder, frustrated. It swung open, completely unlocked.

After regaining his balance, as the sudden opening of the door had thrown him for a loop, Sora peered around inside. There was no one in sight, but there was a delightful aroma of tomato sauce coming from the kitchen. Surely the nation that lived here would have enough to share just a taste. Sora stepped inside.

"DEATH FROM ABOVE!"

"What the-" was all Sora had time to say before he had the wind knocked out of him. The younger Italy boy had him pinned by the shoulders, and though Sora tried to shove him off, the guy was heavier than he looked.

"I did it!" Italy shouted. "See, when you want the advantage in a fight, you have to lull the enemy into security and then catch 'em by surprise! I learned that from Japan! And then when you've got them you've got to never let go until they're good and dead! I learned that from Germany! They'd be so proud!"

Goofy cleared his throat and Italy looked up. "You know, there are three of us and only one of you," Donald pointed out, wand raised.

"Basic math is good for you," Goofy added, brandishing his shield.

Italy made a small "eep" noise and sprang back, allowing Sora to get up and draw his Keyblade. Seeing the weapon, Italy fell back and grabbed a white flag from his pocket. He used both hands to wave it frantically. "I'm sorry!" he cried. "I didn't mean to! I was only joking! I don't wanna fight anymore! I'll be good, I promise!" Sora couldn't tell if he was actually weeping in earnest.

"Hey, hey, calm down," he told the crying nation. He put away his Keyblade. "We're not gonna hurt you. You just startled us is all."

"Oh, okay." Italy sniffled and wiped his nose. "Well, I guess that means we can be friends – wait. Aren't you the magic Allied soldier? With the talking dog?" He looked at Goofy. "That dog did talk! You're him, aren't you!"

"Yeah, but -"

Italy dove under a table. "I told you I surrendered! Waah! Stop bullying me!"

"Hey! Wait wait wait!" Sora waved his hands. "I'm not here to attack you. I'm here to apologize."

Italy peeked out. "Apologize? But all you Allies are so mean! You beat up Germany!"

"Yeah, but it was... an accident." Sora scratched the back of his head.

"Germany is not the kind of guy you beat by accident. Maybe you could beat me by accident," Italy admitted, "but not Germany."

"No, no, let me explain. You see, I thought you guys were Heartless."

"Heartless?" Italy looked aghast. "We do too have hearts!"

"No, wait, those are a different thing – Can I like sit down and talk to you about this? It's a long story."

"No," said Italy, and Sora was about to be upset when he continued with "You can do better than that! You can sit down and have lunch with me and tell me all about it! I just made ravioli!"

Sora and company, who hadn't eaten since that chocolate bar, gladly agreed. Though the kitchen was a total wreck, the food looked absolutely delicious. Italy went all out with the meal, serving buttery garlic bread and a salad and wine, which he was astonished to see Sora refuse. The meal was completely fantabulous, and Sora had to force himself to take breaks to talk between shoveling mushroom-filled pasta into his mouth. Italy listened with rapt attention to Sora's story of how Destiny Islands had been destroyed by Heartless and how he had become a Keyblade master to save other worlds from the Darkness. He told a little bit about each of the worlds he had visited, with Donald and Goofy interjecting with helpful comments, and Italy contributed cheers and gasps of shock at the appropriate times in the story. When Sora was finished, Italy applauded. "That was the best fairy tale ever! I love fairy tales!"

"Thanks," said Sora with a blush. "So yeah, when I saw that there was darkness in this world, I came down to help and I landed on France's side. When I saw his soldiers being attacked I assumed the attackers were Heartless. But... if you Axis guys are people, that must mean you use human soldiers, right?"

Italy nodded.

"Then... that means I was killing people the whole time." Sora looked down and drew sad little circles in his sauce with his fork.

There were a few seconds of silence before Italy said, "Hey! Don't feel so bad!"

Sora looked up at him. "But -"

"Look, it's war. Everybody kills people in war, and we all know it's a bad thing to do, but we do it anyway, 'cause we have to. So don't worry so much. I don't hold it against you."

"Yeah, thanks..." Sora licked pensively at his fork. It still upset him, but he didn't know what to do about it, and he didn't want to have such a downer of a conversation with such a cheery guy. He decided to change the subject. "So how did you guys end up having a war anyway?"

"Well, let's see..." Italy leaned back and thought. "It started when we had World War One over some little countries I forget about. After that all the Allies were being really mean to Germany and saying he started the whole thing when he didn't and taking away all his stuff and making him pay all this money and generally being nasty and awful. And also they said they would give me presents if I helped them win but they didn't give me any presents so I decided to not be their friend anymore. So then Germany was really upset and he tried to take over the world, and I helped him because we're best best friends and friends do that for each other and he didn't really have any other friends. And Japan showed up one day and was like 'hey can I take over China will that help' and we were like 'sure okay' and that was all good. And so that was that." He pondered for a second. "Only it wasn't all good because then we started losing and Germany started beating up his own people and America threw some bombs at Japan. And I kinda got sad."

"Wait one second," said Sora. "Germany was upset so he tried to take over the world? He didn't try to talk about his feelings or anything first?"

Italy looked a bit ashamed for his friend. "Yeah, he does stuff like that. Sometimes he gets really angry about things and sometimes he gets all these big ideas because he's really smart and it turns out badly. But deep down he's really nice, it's just that nobody understands him except me, because I'm his best friend. And Japan isn't mean either. He's shy but he really likes nature and does water colors and he invented these really good seaweed rolls so he can't be a bad guy. None of us are bad guys."

That statement really upset Sora, though he wasn't about to say it. He had always thought of bad guys as people who hurt other people, and good guys as people who didn't. But he hadn't seen wars like this before, or killers who were so damn nice. Sora was torn between avoiding thinking about it and actually comprehending his actions. "Yeah, I felt really sorry for you guys at the settlement," he decided to admit.

"Oh! The settlement!" Italy looked to have forgotten. "I ran away, didn't I? Oh my god, poor Germany! How is he? I left him all alone and best friends aren't supposed to do that but I was really really scared... Oh, they were really mad at him, they probably did horrible things to him... And Japan!" Tears began to well up in Italy's eyes. "I've never seen any of us be that hurt by a bomb. No one thought anyone would ever do something like that. We were supposed to never ever use those weapons ever and- and- Is Japan okay? And Germany? What happened to him? And – wait, was there anyone else?" Italy counted on his fingers. "Germany, Japan, me, my brother, and... Oh! Germany's brother! You know, he seemed pretty okay. He's kinda indestructible, that guy. He'll be fine." Italy waved a hand dismissively.

"Umm," said Sora, not sure if he should tell. He looked sidelong at his friends.

"He's dead," said Goofy, whose honesty got the better of him. "They shot him."

Italy stared uncomprehendingly. "Who the what now?"

"Prussia. He's gone. He was executed," Sora told him.

Italy blinked a few times, then began bawling. "Poor Prussia! I didn't even know we could die! I wasn't thinking about him because he never liked me and was always mean to me but I shouldn't say that because you should only say nice things about dead people and poor Germany! His brother! And – and Prussia is dead? Dead!" From there on out it seemed he was trying to say things but they kept getting choked up in his tears, so he just sat back and wailed and cried.

Sora and friends sat around awkwardly. Goofy looked especially ashamed. Donald nibbled at some bread crumbs. Sora checked his watch. After maybe five straight minutes of tears with no signs of stopping, Donald slammed his hands down on the table and said, "Wait here. I'll fix this." He stormed out of the house.

Sora and Goofy stared after him for a few minutes. Italy did not seem to notice he had gone, preoccupied as he was. He had an astounding voice, being able to carry on that long. Finally Donald returned, face scratched up and feathers falling out, carrying a scrawny orange tabby cat. He threw it on the table in front of Italy. "Look! A kitty!" he shouted.

Italy stopped crying and looked. "Kitty!" he exclaimed. "Kitty kitty cat!" He plucked up the cat, which mewled questioningly, and flipped it over for a belly rub. "Catty catty kitty cat!" All tears seem to have been forgotten.

Donald looked smug. "Wow," Goofy commented.

Sora rubbed the back of his spiky head. Well, Italy seemed happy enough for the moment, but Sora wasn't. Having seen how much Italy cared about his friends, he felt even worse now that he had apologized and tried to make up for it. Just saying sorry wasn't going to cut it, but he didn't know what would. "Uh, so, is there anything I can do to help you guys?"

"Huh?" Italy looked up from the cat. "Hey, did you see this kitty? It's a really cute kitty." He held up the cat, which meowed.

"Yeah, that's a great cat. So, anyway-"

"Oh! I came up with a plan!" proclaimed Italy, index finger in the air. "It's a really good plan."

No offense to Italy, but Sora wasn't sure this guy came up with the greatest plans. But he would listen anyway. "What is it?"

"What we should do is we should go on a quest to liberate Germany and Japan, and then the three of us can be best friends again, and we can go on a picnic together and it'll be just like old times!"

"That – actually, that sounds great!" It did. If he had put the Axis in prison, it was the least he could do to break them out again. It seemed like they had learned their lessons already.

"Okay, awesome! Here, let me call my brother and see if he wants to help us out." Italy went to the phone sitting on the counter and spun a number in. "They invented a phone with buttons," Italy whispered to Sora as it dialed, "but I like spinning the thingy so I kept this one." There was a muffled greeting from the phone. "Hey South!" Italy said. "How ya doing? Okay so the magic key kid who was on the Allies' side came over to say sorry and we ate some ravioli and we decided that we were gonna go on an epic quest to save Germany and Japan. You wanna come?"

A torrent of something that sounded like curses screamed from the phone. Italy winced and held the receiver away from him. "I think he said he doesn't wanna go," said Italy. Sora would have to agree.

"Well," said Sora, "is there anything you want to get here, or should we head out now?"

"Nope! We can get Germany first, right?"

"Sure thing!"

"Yay! Let's do it!" Italy put his hand out. Sora tried to shake it or fistbump or something, but when he put his hand up Italy threw his in the air and shouted "Axis Powers!"

Sora sat there with his hand out for a second before realizing what Italy had been attempting. "Um, I think you need more than two people for that."

"Let's try with us this time," Goofy suggested. This time, all four of them put their hands in, threw them back, and shouted "Axis Powers!" That having been settled, they set out.


	5. Welcome to Hell, Population 13

Prussia woke up with his back against cold asphalt.

For a few seconds he savored that fact. He was conscious, which meant he was alive. Not that he doubted he was immortal, but there was a minute there where everything was completely dark and he couldn't think or feel and goddamn it hurt, and he had shamefully been sure he was wrong. But nope. Still kickin'. Take that, Switzerland.

Prussia peeled himself off the hard ground. It was all fine and dandy to exist, but it helped to know where, and in what condition. He blinked to get used to the faint artificial light of a sleeping city. Curious, that he had been shot in a field and was now in a dark alleyway somewhere. It was a poor choice of places to hide a body.

For a nation, it was awfully disconcerting not to know what city one was in, something akin to waking up in an unknown bed with a complete stranger looming over you. But that discomfort was second priority – the first was to make sure he was fully intact. Prussia stood, which dizzied him slightly. He was a bit zoned out, had somewhat of a migraine, but definitely nothing compared to some hangovers he had been through. Nothing hurt terribly much, which was interesting, as he distinctly remembered being shot. He looked down at his chest. No bullet hole, not even a bloodstain on his SS uniform. Bizarre. He unbuttoned his coat – His arm. He could see straight through his arm.

Prussia drew in a hissing breath. He focused, and his arm became solid again. Wow. Some nations – some weak-willed pansy nations, that is – had a hard time maintaining human form, and would shift in between the worlds of concept and reality. Prussia had never been one of them, until now. Was this what it was like to be Canada? That was terrifying. Or at least... it should have been terrifying. Prussia was maintaining his calm in a way that was almost as worrisome as the issue itself. Why wasn't he breathing harder? Why wasn't his heart rate higher? On an impulse, he checked his pulse at his wrist. He couldn't find it, regardless of how deep he pressed his thumb into the base of his hand. He checked at the jugular. No pulse. He pressed a hand against his chest. No movement there at all.

By this point Prussia, while still completely unafraid, began to feel some kind of sick and empty sensation in his gut. He wasn't terrified, but he knew he should be, and that was enough to send him running – to where, he had no fucking idea, but running anywhere through empty city streets was enough to make him feel like he was doing something. What did it mean? For a human, having no pulse meant they were dead, but for a nation? Who could possibly know what it meant? Was he dead after all? Was this hell? Prussia would have expected more fire and screaming in his afterlife...

No, this was definitely a real place, judging by the physicality of neon lights against concrete buildings. He could speak to a place, reason with a place. He was a place himself, after all. Perhaps if he found a person, he could know where he was... Prussia stopped, and expected to be panting after all that running, but found that he had forgotten to breathe at all. Damn it, he really was dead.

He lifted his head to listen for any sign of human life. There was nothing. No sound at all – he would think he was deaf if he wasn't able to hear his own footsteps. He looked around him. By now, he was on a broad street, lined with flickering lamps and glazed-over signs, reflections shimmering off empty windows of looming buildings. There should have been people somewhere, anywhere. But all the movement he could see was some occasional tantalizing skitter in the shadows that fled whenever he looked at it. No people, then.

Prussia moved his tongue warily in his dry mouth. Ghost towns, he had seen. But never ghost cities. Oh, he had seen dead cities – cities ravaged by bombs or fire or plague. In those cities, though, there were signs of destruction, signs of loss, signs of what had once been. Burnt-out husks of homes, or a few screaming survivors, or parasites squirming in corpses in the street. Never had he seen a city so perfectly empty of anything. Well, there was still hope. Stupid hope by now, but some hope. Maybe the dead could speak to the dead. This was a big city, and often big cities – say, Hong Kong – were willful enough to develop minds of their own. So Prussia shouted into the empty night, feeling kind of silly without anyone to whom to direct his words: "Oi! City! You there? Talk to me."

The city did not respond.

"You! City! Show your face? Do you know who you're not talking to? I am the mighty Prussia!"

The wind did not blow. Words echoed off high walls.

"Hey! I can hurt you, know! I could occupy you in two seconds flat! It's in your best interests to respond!"

Nothing. One of the street lamps burned out. Prussia began to feel he should be angry.

"I've got a lovely army, you know! One of the world's best! Let me show you it!" And with a habitual sinister grin, Prussia threw his arms up and summoned his army. He could still feel the power of the people, their patriotism within his flesh, ready to destroy at his command -

Wait. What the hell was he doing? If he was dead, how could he have an army? He had certainly summoned something, there was something behind him waiting for his orders, but who the hell fought for a dead country? Very reluctantly, very slowly, Prussia turned his head to look at where his army should be.

Well. That was certainly an army. But not the kind anyone wanted. Not the kind made of people. No, what was there was a slithering mass of gray somethings, eyeless things with gaping black mouths attempting to stand in formation but swishing and flailing where they stood. They covered the streets as far as the eye could see in lumpy gray clots. They were disgusting. Was this... him? All that remained of Prussia's land, Prussia's people? Oh god no. His military had always been himself. He had always been ruled by the rage of an army. This was not Prussia.

In what should have been rage but was only some instinctive compulsion to violence, Prussia turned on the pathetic mass of non-troops. The front ranks squirmed submissive before him as he launched into them, kicked and punched and tore and even bit. "Go away!" he roared. "Give me back my soldiers! Give me back!"

The things didn't bother fighting back, seeming less frightened or angry than confused. Prussia could hear their horrid little voices in his mind: But, our liege! Why, master, why? Fatherland... They died easily, grey lipid forms bending to gloved fists and booted feet. Their corpses formed little quivering puddles before dissipating into slimy mists. Once the front ranks had fallen, the remainder fled into the crevices of the city. Miserable cowardly beasts. Not fit to be his army at all.

Prussia didn't know what he should have been feeling – bitterness, rage, whatever – but the emptiness that incident had left him with was almost strong enough to be a feeling, a hole burning through him as though he had been set aflame from the center. He stared up at the sky on impulse, perhaps because of the beam of light a shifting cloud had set free from the moon. The moon he could see now... was the wrong moon. It wasn't its usual sphere, but instead was shaped like a massive and moronic heart, like the drawing of a dimwitted child god. Well, he wasn't in Berlin anymore, that was for sure. Prussia sat on the side of the street, head in hands, and just let himself seethe in his nothingness. It felt natural.

Far too many minutes had been spent in that moronic fetal position when Prussia noticed footsteps. He looked up. Whoever – whatever it was, it was human-shaped. Woman-shaped, to boot. Lovely-shaped woman shaped. Prussia would certainly get up for this. (Tee hee, get up. If he could have laughed, he would have chuckled.) He staggered to his feet, trying to make the move look suave. The woman was about to pass by him, but she turned her head at the last moment, two blond locks of hair moving gracefully with her. Prussia couldn't decide if he wanted his heart at this moment – certainly this would be thrillingly overwhelming, but its pounding might interfere with his smooth moves.

"Well, hello there," he said to her, attempting to sound like velvet and not his usual gunmetal. "And what are you doing all alone on a cold night in a deathly city like this?"

She raised an eyebrow at him and almost smiled. "Oh, I'm sure I can take care of myself." A very nice voice, that was. Sounded feisty. He liked women with a fighting spirit.

"But why should you have to?" Prussia stepped up to her. "Why should a beautiful woman have to spend the night lonely?"

The woman snorted and looked away. "I can't feel lonely. Why don't you try your creepery on a human instead?" And having said so, she began to walk off, deftly managing both a determined stride and an incredible hip-swaying grace.

Prussia stared after her. She wasn't human? Well, then, he had to get closer to her. For intelligence-gathering purposes. He strode after her, attempting to remain seductive. "Oh, don't leave so soon. I'm sure we have more in common than you might think." In a wild gamble, he placed a hand upon her back.

Well, that got a reaction. The woman whirled around, the air crackling around her, her eyes literally sparking. Prussia stepped back a little bit. "You do not touch me," she hissed.

This situation could still be salvaged, Prussia was sure. He held up his hands. "Sorry, sorry! I simply couldn't help but-"

"Well, let's fix it so you don't have those impulses ever again, shall we?" And before Prussia could think about what she meant, eight blades came arcing toward him, crackling and grinning against the dark, and eight wounds pinned him by his clothes to the wall he had just left. Prussia stammered for a minute, and the woman blew him a kiss. "Toodles. I'm sure we'll meet again." And she left.

Well, that campaign had been a rousing success. Prussia bit his lip. This was uncomfortable. He was stuck to the wall at the elbow of his left hand and directly through the palm of his right, not to mention at his left side, and at a level where he couldn't quite stand up straight but had to slump with his feet sticking out into the street. A few other stray blades were buried in his gut, his shoulder, his leg, and alarmingly close to his groin. The knives definitely hurt – the pain was curiously dull and distant, but it was quite there – and though he wasn't bleeding some fine and disturbing black mist was leaking out of his wounds. Lovely. He tried to free himself, but the knives were incredibly fixed in place; he wouldn't be surprised if the bitch had somehow welded them to the building. So he sat there for a while, feeling somewhat crucified. After a few minutes he began to belt out drinking songs, half out of boredom and half out of hope someone might hear him.

Judging by the number of beers taken off the wall (six hundred and eighty-three), Prussia had been there for around an hour and a half before he saw another figure approach, a familiar stocky one topped with a ridiculous mass of dreadlocked hair. Not a country he knew well, but a nation he knew of, which was a blessing. "Hey! Cuba!" Prussia shouted at him. "What're you doing in this hellhole? Help out a land in need, will you?"

Cuba continued walking towards him. Wait, was that actually Cuba? Prussia squinted. This guy was dressed in the same black robe the lightning-bitch had been wearing, which was a bad sign. A flickering streetlight illuminated the man's face as he passed under it. Nope, unless there had been some kind of serious missile crisis, Cuba did not have facial hair that hideous. Were sideburns that size even legal?

The overly hairy man stopped a few feet away from Prussia and raised an eyebrow. "I see you've met Larxene."

"Pretty little harpy? Yes. Could you help me out, by any chance? I'm bleeding – ah, no, leaking, I suppose, but it can't be very good for me."

The man sighed. "Very well." He unceremoniously wrenched three of the knives out of the wall, causing a bit of wincing from Prussia. As soon as his arms were free, Prussia got to work removing the other knives, which were excruciatingly quite wedged in. With each grimace and tug, the wound would release a brief curl of greasy black smoke. It was slightly disgusting, but fortunately he seemed no worse off from losing the not-blood stuff, plus it didn't stain. Prussia's savior stared at him with no expression of sympathy. "May I ask what you did to offend her? Sneeze in her direction, maybe?"

"All I did was speak to her nicely. Compliment her. Maybe touch her once," Prussia admitted. He removed the final knife with a small squeal and let it clatter to the ground.

The other man shook his head, stupid hair swirling. "I'll assume you're dazed from your death and your judgment is impaired. Otherwise I'd consider you an idiot for that."

"Well, thanks." Prussia stood up straight and brushed himself off. He spoke a little more sarcastically than he should have – after all, if this fellow hadn't helped, he would still be a pincushion. Say, those knives might come in handy. Prussia looked down to pick one up only to find a swarm of the little gray creatures were already slithering over his feet to get to the knives before him. Prussa stomped on the things, and they squeaked, but didn't stop. "Shouldn't we stop them?" he asked his new companion, gesturing at the writhing mass.

"They're only going to return the knives to her."

"Like I said, shouldn't we stop them?"

The man snorted. "You wish."

"Well, I'll take more precautions to keep them out of myself in the future." Prussia rubbed his still-aching side and held out his hand. "Thanks for de-knifing me. I'm Prussia."

"No, you aren't anymore," said the man, but shook his hand anyway, black glove against black glove. "I go by Xaldin."

Prussia wrinkled his nose at the insinuation that he wasn't himself, but nodded anyway. "Pleased to meet you."

He supposed that had been a lie, and he supposed that Xaldin was more truthful, because he only scoffed in return and turned around. "I suggest you follow me if you don't want to be taken by force. We're going to see the Superior. I'll explain things on the way."

"Fine, fine." Prussia – or maybe not-Prussia – was mildly insulted, but he followed. At least he would get an explanation, and an authority figure to berate. Xaldin turned, and as Prussia followed he saw the white tips of what might be a castle ahead. Where there were castles, there was royalty, and where there was royalty, there was a puny little monarchic nation. He smiled to himself, not out of actual smug hope, but a knowledge of what he could do to such a place. Perhaps this would turn out all right after all.


	6. Let Me Pet the Bunny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some creeptastic Russia. Warning: The USSR is a disturbing place. I almost wondered if I should change the rating to M for sheer what is this I don't even. Whatever. Enjoy!

Russia awoke. Something was in his room.

It was amazing what a shot of communism could do for a guy, he thought as he looked around the shadows for traces of movement. Before his revolution, though he could barely remember his old self, he vaguely recalled wandering around in a half-mad daze, not sure if there was anything happening around him, if he was awake or dreaming. Now – well, the half-mad part hadn't really improved, but he could see everything. He knew everything, he was everywhere. He knew something was in his room by the fluttering of the air, by the subtle shaking in the shadows, by some barely detectable scent that told him something other was there. This hint of danger was enough to wake him up, and he crouched, ready to spring and kill. It was pretty badass.

Whatever was there moved again, flitting from one side of the room to another, avoiding the moonlight reflected off snow through the window. He couldn't see the shape of it, could only feel the fact that it was there. Funny. Something invisible? What was it, a Canadian demon? It moved again, hesitated. Russia took his trusty water pipe from his bedside table and held it out in warning. Everything seemed to hold still – then he couldn't see something was on him he couldn't breathe it was so dark he couldn't scream all he could do was strike out – his pipe made contact with something almost-solid, and broke through, and there was air again.

Russia glanced around frantically, looking for where his opponent had gone, but it was nowhere to be seen. But not gone. He tried to calm himself enough to sense it again, but his ears were pounding with blood and his breath was tearing at his throat. Carefully, without turning around, he reached over to turn on his lamp. His opponent might be less intimidated by his pink flannel pajamas (with little red hammers and sickles on them), but such was the price for the advantage of sight.

When the light hit the corners of the room, he saw the intruder for an instant, a human shape, before it dove ballet-like into a shadow beside the dresser. Russia blinked at it. There wasn't enough space for anything to hide back there – and yet it was gone.

So it could hide in the shadows. Very well. He'd just have to get rid of the shadows. Russia dove to the other side of the room to flip on the light switch, then grabbed a flashlight from his sock drawer. (Not sure how it got there, but it sure was handy now.) He pulled the dresser away from the wall. The shadow-creature sprang out of hiding and went for his face, claws outstretched. A block, a punch, a few maneuvers with the pipe, a knee to the gut, and it was away from him again. Where? Damn, there were too many places for a shadow to be... He threw open the closet. Something rustled from between the coats, flew in a black blur out and past him. Russia whirled around. A yellow eye appeared under his bed, then vanished. Excellent. Grinning, Russia gripped the underside of the bed and flipped it over. His adversary made a sound like a hog being slaughtered.

Well, that had been fun. Russia stood on the overturned bed and jumped up and down a few times, just for kicks. The demon screeched like the boxsprings. Yay. Now to find out what it actually was. He lifted up the bed. The squashed beast wibbled for a second, then sprang back into shape cartoonishly. It stared up at him with acid-yellow eyes, growled, and flexed its claws, but seemed unable to stand.

Russia took the thing by the back of its neck and slammed it against the wall. It had a delightfully squishy consistency, like some kind of bread pudding of darkness. "What are you?" he asked it merrily. "Who sent you here?" The creature gurgled and hissed, and its zigzaggy antennas shook. It didn't seem to be able to talk. An animal, then. Just an animal.

The concept was a little difficult to get his mind around at first. It was so human in shape, so much a person in its gestures and the expression in its eyes that Russia couldn't be sure of his judgement. "You can't talk, can you?" he asked it. "Or understand me or anything?" It just kept staring with those big yellow eyes, without any trace of soul or consciousness. An animal all the way through. Realization dawned on Russia: This very well might make the best pet ever.  
A new pet! He loved new pets! He hadn't got a good new pet since Latvia. He would have to make sure he treated this one especially nice then. To make amends, he threw his arms around it for a hug. It was very squishy - there didn't seem to be any bones to break, which meant he could hug it as much as he wanted - and its dark skin was nice and cool. "I'm sorry, animal! I thought you were a guy trying to kill me but you must just be lost or something. It's okay, I'll take care of you!" Russia tried to sound as soothing as possible. He was not bad at that, he thought, but it still inspired the creature to dig its teeth into his coat. "No. Bad animal." Russia gave it a firm bop on where the nose should be. It squeaked in its plague-rat way.  
Feeling sorry for it, Russia swept it up into his arms and sat down on the bed. "Shush, shush. It's okay. This is your new home now." The animal made another halfhearted attempt at squirming out of his grip and biting, but it seemed to be giving up. "What should I name you? Maybe... Kugshka. You look like a Kugshka to me." The newly christened beast stretched as far as it could away from Russia, trying to push itself out of his loving grasp, and then gave up and recoiled into a sulky fetal position. He took that as an assent. "Kugshka. Kugshka, Kugshka, Kugshka!"  
Happy with himself, Russia put Kugshka on the floor. "Now wait right here." Kugshka attempted to use its arms to pull itself back into the shadows of the room; its legs still looked kind of wobbly. "No running away!" Russia stomped on its ankle and it stopped and curled up. Good. He flipped the bed back over - the noise was probably waking up the people that lived in the basement, but that was just too bad for them - and sat upon it. Kugshka, seeing the new shadows underneath the bed, squirmed toward them. When would it learn? "No, no, no. You'll be staying with me!" And Russia grabbed it and pulled it towards the bed with him. It clung gooily to the floor, but came loose soon enough.  
Kugshka seemed a little agitated by this new development, so Russia leaned back and stroked its dark half-there head. He kind of wondered whether its eyes would pop out if he tried to squish it, but he wasn't that mean. "I think you can be my new best friend," he whispered to it. Kugshka didn't respond. "Because none of my friends are my real friends. None of them really like me. They smile and all but I think they all think I'm stupid or scary or crazy or there's something else wrong with me. I'm not scary, Kugshka. Am I?" He petted it under its chin. It didn't do anything. He would take that as a no. "Sometimes I think they really hate me. Sometimes I think they want to kill me, Kug. They're really not very nice to me. You know that America? You don't know him. But did you ever really want to humiliate a guy and then kill him and do unspeakable things to his corpse? Yeah, he's that kind of guy." He paused to think about what he just said. "Except maybe I would do the unspeakable things first, because he would make some nice sounds. I kind of like the sounds you make, Kugshka, but they're sometimes loud and squeaky. Maybe you should try and keep it down a little?"  
He kept stroking his pet's head. The antennas were fun because they twitched when you touched them. It was nice, to just sit in the moonlight and the lamplight talking to his favorite pet. Kugshka was such a good listener. "And my other pets," he whispered some more, his mouth almost touching where his pet's ear would be, "they don't love me at all. I love them. I keep them all in my house because I love them. But I don't think they understand. They seem so scared of me, and none of them trust me at all, and all I want to do is keep them and give them hugs!" He sniffled. "And they always say they're so hungry but I don't have so much food for them, I really don't because there's so many, and they're still alive so it can't be that bad, and if they keep going on and on about it I think I might just take away all their food and see how they like it then. I love them all so much." Another sniffle. "Sometimes... sometimes I hear them talking about how they want to run away. They have plans to escape, did you know that? They want independence. But I'll never let them go. Ever, ever, ever. Because they're my pets and I love them. You'll never escape, Kugshka. I'll never, ever let you." A few tears were falling now, and Russia gave Kugshka an extra-tight squeeze before drying off his face with his sleeve. "Thanks for listening. You're a good friend." And Russia reached over to turn the light out, then laid down and went back to sleep, still clutching Kugshka in his arms. The creature squirmed a few more times, then made a noise not unlike a sigh and lay still.

Russia realized that he was going to have to keep Kugshka at home. He had thought about taking his new friend to work with him, but after it tried several times to flee and/or chomp on his neck, he decided that wasn't going to be a possibility. Very well, then, he had plenty of cages. They were getting kind of full, but he would have to make do.  
Kugshka would like it here, Russia thought as he went down the stone steps to his basement. All shadowy and dank and drippy. He had fashioned a leash out of rope and pink ribbon, and was leading the reluctant shadow-beast behind him. (The rope had been necessary because Kugshka had misguidedly tore up all of the ones that were only ribbon, but hadn't yet managed to tear through this collar.) Russia had also given it a bell, and it hung its head and jingled when it slunk along. He loved bells. When he ruled the world, he decided, everyone would have to wear a jingle bell. What a wonderful world it would be.  
Yes, Kugshka seemed to be perking up in this dungeon, flickering comfortably into the shadows, only its big yellow eyes visible. It didn't seem quite up to walking yet after a bed had fallen on it, and Russia did have to drag it down the stairs, but it didn't seem to mind as much as his other pets did. So nice and obedient, compared to them. And not nearly as annoyingly shrieky. Screams were only fun for a while.  
Most of the cells of the dungeon were full. Russia narrowed his eyes and scanned for one where there weren't pale shaking hands reaching out for him or clutching the bars, ignoring the moans and cries that always started up when he went down here. Maybe he should build an annex. All these pets were becoming a handful.  
So Kugshka would have to share a room. Russia pulled at his scarf thoughtfully. There was one cell he knew he could fit two people in, but he was a little bit unwilling to give it up. After all, it was where he kept his favorite pet, and he wanted to leave room for himself when he visited. But it would have to do.  
Russia walked down the hallway, boots splashing in the occasional stagnant puddle, studiously ignoring the pleas and whispers of his other pets. He couldn't play with all of them all the time, didn't they understand that? Apparently the sight of their new compatriot scared them though, because once Kugshka passed by they tended to scurry back into the corners they usually stayed curled up in. It helped that the creature would swing its head around sniffing the air as if looking for prey. It was such a good boy.  
He found the cell he was looking for, way at the end of the hall, and tapped against the bars just as a measure of politeness - pling pling, they went - before he undid the lock. Lithuania undid his arms twined around his knees and looked up. For some reason - maybe it was the sparing diet, or the lack of hot showers, or the hard pallet to sleep on, or just some general effect of a communist atmosphere that took its toll on weak-spirited nations even as it made the strong stronger - Lithuania looked more like a half-dead rat every time Russia saw him. But he was still so pretty despite that, despite stringy hair and glazed eyes and pallid quivery skin. His prettiest pet by far. "Hello, master." (After he conquered them and liberated their people from capitalism, all his pets started calling him that on their own, in those thin and pale voices. Wasn't it adorable?) "What would you--- guh..." And then his words seemed to catch in his throat as his eyes got even bigger than normal. "WHAT IS THAT THING?"  
His pets never had shouted before, and it made Russia laugh out loud. "It's your new friend! His name is Kugshka." Russia swung open the door with a creak and Kugshka poked its head in, antennae extending towards its new cellmate. Oh good, it liked him!  
Lithuania apparently did not share the sentiment, because he flattened himself against the wall, eyes flickering back and forth. Russia always wondered why people thought hiding in a corner would help them. It just made them easier to catch, anyone could see that. "I... I don't think you should leave that in here with me, master, sir. I think... I just think it wants to kill me, sorry, s-sorry..." He shivered like one of those weird little foreign dogs.  
"Aww, nonsense!" Russia patted Lithuania on the head to be comforting. He had never seen his pet so openly agitated or emotional. It was exciting. Kugshka was both fun and useful! "He's friendly. See?" Russia petted Kugshka across the shoulders to demonstrate. Kugshka whirled around and attempted to bite his arm off, but Russia yanked it away in time. Well, that had not been a successful demonstration. The way Lithuania was shaking now he looked diseased. "Okay, well, maybe not, but I managed to break its legs, so as long as you stay on your side it can't come after you." Russia picked up Kugshka and placed it on the opposite side of the cell. It lunged for Lithuania but didn't manage to reach him before it curled back into the shadows with a pained hiss. Lithuania nodded but didn't look convinced in the slightest. "Oh, cheer up. I'm sure you two will become friends real fast." This didn't seem to be working, but Russia closed and locked the door anyway. Lithuania made a muffled squealing noise, but didn't speak. Kugshka sat curled in a puddle of shadow, watching.  
"I-I was w-wondering, sir," said Lithuania as Russia was considering leaving the two to get acquainted, "does the house need to be cleaned? Because i-it hasn't been clean-n-ned in a while, has it?" He wrung his limp-rag hands.  
Russia thought. "Well, all right, I suppose it does. You know the rules? No eating from the fridge, no napping on the couch, no talking to the other republics?" Lithuania nodded frantically. "Okay then. You can do your maid thing." Russia unlocked the door and Lithuania jumped out so fast he stumbled straight into him. At this Lithuania made some attempts at frantic apology, but Russia silenced him with a kiss, stroking the back of his head. Lithuania accepted it, and threw his thin arms around Russia in as much of an embrace as he could manage. It was awfully cute, but Russia did have stuff to do. He pulled away, caressed Lithuania's face a little bit, then walked away. Lithuania hurried past him to the closet where he kept the apron and broom. What good little pets he had.

Russia came home early that day because he was so excited to play with Kugshka. He ran straight to the basement, despite Lithuania's attempts to greet him, and to Kugshka's cage. But when he tried to pick up his new friend, it stuck to the floor, stretching but not coming loose. Russia tried all he could, foot braced against the wall, lifting with all his considerable might. He did get Kugshka stretched to about twice its original length, and quite upset about that from the looks of it, but it wouldn't come unstuck from the shadows in the corner. Russia let go to scratch his head in confusion, and Kugshka sprang back and curled up, hissing. He had never before had a pet that simply would not come out to play. What was to be done?  
Then he realized something. He had given all his pets their daily slice of bread and glass of water yesterday, and most of them ate it right away like greedy little squirrels, but Kugshka's meal lay in the corner untouched. Maybe it couldn't eat bread! Maybe it was hungry! Russia fished around in his pockets for something else to feed it and found some old beef jerky. He proffered it, and Kugshka sniffed it and twitched its antennae, but didn't take the food. Huh, it didn't like that either.  
Maybe it wanted something fresher? Russia ran upstairs to the kitchen and took a raw steak off the counter, confusing Lithuania who was trying to prepare it for dinner. He ran back to Kugshka's cage and proffered the red and squishy meat, but though this time his pet licked tentatively at the blood dripping from it, it didn't eat that either. It must want something even fresher. Well, Russia wanted only the best for his new best friend. He ran back upstairs, slapped the steak back down - splattering the now even more confused Lithuania - and went outside. It was easy enough to find a stray cat; they were all over his cities, eating the vermin that even the damn greedy humans refused. Russia picked out a mysteriously plump tabby and tucked it under his arm. It meowled at him and his cold hands as he ran, but he was used to shrieking and didn't care. The people in the streets took little notice of the huge man running past carrying a screaming cat. In Soviet Russia you saw these sorts of things all the time. Lithuania didn't even bother asking when Russia came back with the cat. He just stared as Russia tromped downstairs, holding the squalling cat over his head like a trophy.  
Kugshka's antennae perked up when it saw the cat, and when the cat saw Kugshka it squirmed like never before and reached its claws desperately for Russia's face. All good signs. "Catch!" said Russia, throwing the cat through Kugshka's open cage door. And catch Kugshka did. And eat, quite rapidly. Fur flew. So did blood, and gobbets of flesh and bone and whatever other things were inside a cat. So it did like kitties! "Good for you!" said Russia. It was hard to read Kugshka's feelings, but it seemed to agree. Well, now he knew what to feed it. Kugshka curled up in its favorite corner. The little guy probably needed time to digest.  
Russia was leaving merrily, but a small hand clutching at his coat stopped him. "What is it?" Couldn't his pets say "Excuse me" instead of always grabbing?  
"M...m...master R-r...russ-s-ssia." Oh god, it was Latvia. He had been hard enough to understand before he had been liberated. Now his stutter was impenetrable. "What."  
"D-d-did the... The cat, that - c-cat, did it - the th-h-hing at the ennnnd of - d-did it -"  
"Yes, Kugshka ate the cat. Is that what you're trying to ask?"  
Latvia didn't even thank Russia for making sense of him. He just started screaming like it had been his kitty or something. Shrieking and shrieking and going on and on. Disgruntled, Russia flicked him on the nose. He fell over. "You're cute," Russia muttered, "but not cute enough to be allowed to make those noises." Latvia curled up and nodded very quietly. He was a good kid deep down. Satisfied, Russia left.

Speaking of cute, it took forever to get Lithuania back into his cage. First he tried claiming that he wasn't done cleaning, then he tried all sorts of hugging and kissing and general clinging, and then crying and pleading, and finally Russia had no choice but to pick him up and drag him away kicking and wailing. He tried to explain that he could only play with one of his pets at a time and that it was Kazakhstan's turn to be out, and that he was being a greedy little kulak if he wanted to take away his comrade's time with their best friend Russia, but Lithuania would have none of it. And he was usually such a good little pet! How disappointing. He finally did get the little screecher into his cell, using a smidge of brute force, and Lithuania resigned himself to crying in the corner farthest from Kugshka's. How bothersome. It wasn't like Kugshka was all that bad.

Again Russia woke up in the middle of the night, though. If his pets kept doing this, he thought as he rubbed his eyes, he would have to institute some more serious measures. Nations needed their sleep. At least, he thought they did. Actually, he had no idea. Either way, he didn't appreciate all this screaming that was waking him up all the time. And whoever was going on and on shrieking bloody murder in the basement probably was waking up the whole neighborhood. Russia threw the covers off himself, burying the confused Kazakhstan who was sleeping at the foot of the bed, and got up. He grabbed the pipe off the bedstand in case discipline was necessary, stretched, and tromped on down to the basement.  
It was Lithuania, of course. It figured that he would have trouble with Kugshka. Something must have upset his new pet, because he seemed more agitated than ever before, clawing at Lithuania's face and neck and chest as though his life depended on it. Lithuania for his part had found a flashlight somewhere - probably the same one that had mysteriously appeared in his sock drawer - and was wielding the beam like a weapon. Every time Kugshka attacked Lithuania would blind it with the light, saving himself from a direct hit but enraging the creature even further. So many iterations of lunge, turn, gasp, wail, flail, spring, et cetera et cetera. The fight was a little mesmerizing, and Russia just stood and watched for a minute, despite Lithuania's occasional shrieks at him for help. How could he choose sides between his two darlings? It was clear after a bit though that Kugshka was winning, that Lithuania's frayed nerves and fear were overwhelming him as Kugshka remained persistent. When Kugshka finally managed to get ahold of the light and crushed it in one fist, and Lithuania stopped screaming and took in one last disbelieving breath, it was over. Kugshka enveloped Lithuania as though it was a swarm of something -  
And Russia finally opened the door and pried the two apart. Lithuania fell back, gasping for air. There were two deep gashes in his chest, as though Kugshka had been trying to tear through his ribs. Kugshka kept stretching itself toward its prey, wanting to finish the job, but Russia held it away at arm's length. "Bad Kugshka," he told it. "Countries are not for eating." He threw it to the other side of the cell. It hit the wall with a splat and slid to the ground, whining.  
"And you!" Russia said to Lithuania, who was already on his knees preparing for standard groveling procedures. "Why were you being so mean to my Kugshka?"  
"Mean? Me? N-no, I was only defending myself. It - it -"  
"Liar. Kugshka is too nice to ever do something like that."

"But – but really, it -" Lithuania looked so genuinely flustered and terrified that Russia almost believed him. It didn't really matter, anyway. The simple fact was that his pets did not get along.

"Fine. You two will just have to stay apart. I'll put you in the same cage as the other Baltics." Russia picked up Lithuania, who was attempting to cling to his knees and thank him, and took him to the cage containing Estonia and Latvia. When he tossed Lithuania in, his brothers embraced and comforted him as though he had been gone for years or something. He was only like two cages down, sheesh.

After far too much sickening crying and cuddling, Lithuania seemed to notice that Russia was still there glaring at him. He hurriedly pushed his brothers away. "Th-h-hank you so much, sir, so very, very much f-for sparing me -"

"Enough. Quiet. You know how you can repay me later." He added a dark little smile for punctuation.

Lithuania's reaction to that last suggestion gratified Russia and mortified the other Baltics. No fear, just a glazed, blissful, even eager smile. His lesser brothers shrank back when they saw that expression, but Lithuania didn't care, Lithuania was a good pet, a good communist, a good republic. He had been taught the way and he was not ashamed to serve. Russia gave him a kiss on the forehead and a gentle pat and left whistling.


End file.
